Fading from Black to White
by BevellaClearlyNotKnown
Summary: Chronologically follows "Everyone's Weakness," By the amazing Ruby Casablanca. Inspired by, and hopefully in the spirit of that story. It shows what happens after Irene's death. Spoilers (obviously) for Game of Shadows.


_A/N: I wrote this shortly after thinking about the story "Everyone's Weakness" by the amazing Ruby Casablanca. All I could think was, 'what next?' So this is what happened. I couldn't sleep until i had written it down. I hope you like it. Obviously spoilers for Game Of Shadows. Also, slight religious overtones, if that's not your thing. No flames please.  
_

* * *

After her vision faded to black, Irene had felt a lightness and then complete silence took over. Suddenly, her senses returned and she heard her name being called.

She did not recognize the voice.

'Miss Adler? Miss Adler!'

Her eyelids fluttered open, then quickly shut again. The room she was in, wherever it was shocked her vision. It was full of white light. The floor she lay on was soft, and yet firm. Not feathers or pillows.

The voice became clearer and she ventured another look about her surroundings.

It was unlike anything she had ever seen. White fluffy, something, covered the floor, and seemed to cover the walls. She turned and saw a gleam of gold in the distance.

"Irene?" The voice asked a final time, and she turned forward to see a man, with a brown beard and mustache, and slightly lighter golden hair reaching for her.

She took his outstretched hand and he gently pulled her to her feet.

"Where am I?" She found the words to speak, marveling at how her throat once again felt normal. Not rough and sore as it had before coughing up the bright crimson that had contrasted with the white silk of her handkerchief.

A horrible thought struck her.

"Am I dead? I am aren't I? Moriarty poisoned me with something." She clapped a hand to her mouth, and her last moments flashed across her mind's eye.

Stumbling to the ground, shattered bits of cups and saucers, a tightening in her chest, counting down her last heartbeats, her desperate confessions and prayers.

The man smiled warmly,

"Miss Adler, it's true. You are no longer among the living. You are in Heaven. Your selflessness and brave thoughts and sacrifices in your final moments were your redemption."

Irene gulped. Even with her sordid and scandalous past she had somehow managed to enter the realm eternal? No fire and brimstone?

The man nodded, as if reading her mind.

"No soul is ever lost for certain. There is always a choice."

She glanced around,

"Is there any way to see people on earth? Will I be able to speak to them?" She didn't mention Sherlock by name, but it was written all over her face, stricken with worry.

The man shrugged,

"We cannot directly interfere with human life, as it would violate free will. But we do encourage and answer prayers and questions they may have during daily life."

The man paused, and began walking quickly away from her, and she hastened to follow him. As she walked, she noticed she was wearing a flowing white gown, heavier than a nightgown, but thankfully loose and without a painful corset.

The man stopped, reaching out to pull a scroll from midair,

"It appears that Sherlock Holmes has just jumped over the falls of Reichenbach."

Irene gasped,

"Is he going to die?"

He shook his head,

"Not necessarily. He was acting in self defense, taking with him your killer, James Moriarty. He seems very calm, but determined. Perhaps you could speak to him. In his mind. Like a daydream. He is your-'

He broke off, staring at her, and she nodded,

"My love."

The man smiled,

"I was thinking more along the lines of 'soul mate.'"

Irene glanced sidelong at the man, for that was a strong word to describe her relationship with Sherlock.

"He called you his greatest mystery. For a famed detective, that's saying quite a bit."

Irene felt her eyes sting, and she blinked frantically to keep from crying. She was in Heaven after all, where the good book said there would be no more tears. Well, clearly it was inaccurate when dealing with, soul mates, as the man had put it.

"Who are you by the way? Surely you aren't-?" Irene faltered, unsure. This guy wasn't the big man himself. He didn't have the white hair and beard.

The man smiled and reached for her hand again,

"Saint Peter. But you can just call me Peter. We're all equal here."

She took it, and shook briefly.

"I see. Now, what could I tell Sherlock, to possibly save him?"

Peter shrugged,

"Tell him not to worry about you, not to give up on life, whatever you like. It's completely up to you."

Irene nodded and stepped forward, glancing back at Peter for help,

"Just speak; he'll hear it in his mind. Possibly even see you. At least how he remembers you."

Irene nodded.

* * *

The icy cold water of the falls bit into Sherlock's skin like hundreds of thousands of mites. It left him breathless, and he suddenly realized how easy it would be to simply relax, and let the water smother him with its cold embrace. Then he heard something. He was imagining it surely. This was only his life flashing before his eyes. Just like he'd always heard it told.

Irene was smiling at him, her eyes twinkling with mischief, and she made him feel just a touch less cold,

"Sherlock. Don't be ridiculous. You aren't giving up. Think of John. And Mrs. Hudson. They won't be the same without you always pestering them. I'm not ready to see you again. Not like this. So get up there. Take a breath, and live. Live until you're hair turns grey, until your back curves in, and until your mind becomes fuzzy, not from drink or smoke, but from time. Find someone to live for. Don't worry about me. I'm safe, and will be waiting for you. When the time is right. I love you."

Sherlock knew it was sheer madness, but his mind was right. He wouldn't allow Moriarty to kill him as well. He had to beat him. For Irene' sake. Revenge was a dish best served cold. In this case, Moriarty was introduced to the cold the best way Sherlock could think of. Now it was time to get home and fins another case. He kicked hard with his legs, and broke through the surface, gasping a breath in to his tired lungs, marveling at how the air seemed colder than the freezing water.

"That will wake a man." He strode up onto the riverbank, before collapsing into the mud. He looked over at the water, where Moriarty's body had not yet surfaced, "Goodnight James. May you rest in peace, hopefully a place much warmer than this."

* * *

Irene smiled at her love, glad to see the emotional havoc Moriarty had wreaked on Sherlock had not dampened his sense of humor.

All was well. Though they were far apart, she would be sure to keep watch over him, only contacting him if grim danger approached.

She turned away from the cloud and found Peter watching her with mild curiosity.

"Would you like a tour?" He asked her, and she nodded, before pausing,

"Have you time for that?"

He chuckled,

"Only all the time in the world Miss Adler."

* * *

**END**


End file.
